


fight all day, kiss all night

by lovebot (bluelions)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Getting Together, M/M, Post-Time Skip, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:02:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25905520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluelions/pseuds/lovebot
Summary: There’s no “catching up” to do. He doesn’t need to be toeing his sneakers off at the entryway, a polite precursor to the tea and conversation they will soon share, and following Kuroo deeper into the thick of his home.But Kuroo had been suggestive, and Yaku took the bait, and really, that’s all they’ve been doing for the past decade.
Relationships: Kuroo Tetsurou/Yaku Morisuke
Comments: 32
Kudos: 199





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally a warmup given the prompt kuroyaku and "the smell of cologne/perfume on warm skin"!
> 
> thank you to caro for unknowingly spurring my idealization of the kuroyaku dynamic *many hearts*

Something tells Yaku there is no reason for him to be here in Kuroo’s apartment right now, but he’ll give him the benefit of doubt for once. They text each other every other day, bully each other in the ancient Nekoma group chat, and send each other holiday cards every year. There’s no “catching up” to do. He doesn’t need to be toeing his sneakers off at the entryway, a polite precursor to the tea and conversation they will soon share, and following Kuroo deeper into the thick of his home.

But Kuroo had been suggestive, and Yaku took the bait, and really, that’s all they’ve been doing for the past decade.

“Tea?” Kuroo asks predictably.

“Sure.” Yaku’s not really thirsty, but he needs something to wash down the butterflies clambering up his throat.

He sinks into the leather couch in front of the TV and glances around while Kuroo busies himself in the kitchen. It’s surprisingly humble for the salary Kuroo makes; one bedroom, one bathroom, and a variety of knick-knacks and memorabilia cluttered on every surface. He’s still a hoarder it seems.

Kuroo returns with two mugs of tea and a pink plastic DVD case. “NEKOMA” is scrawled over the front in black marker, bold and strong. Yaku raises an eyebrow and says, “Oh, you brought me over to be sentimental.”

“You make it sound like a bad thing, Yakkun,” he drawls, and pops it into the player.

“I’m not, I’m just saying it sounded like you were trying to get your hands on me earlier.”

“Maybe that’s what  _ you _ wanted to happen.”

“This is weird foreplay even for you, Kuroo.”

Kuroo just clicks his tongue with a sigh and Yaku mentally adds a tally mark to his side of the scoreboard. The video finally loads and their high school gym appears like a dream, yellow-tinted and fuzzy. It’s a match against Karasuno Yaku doesn’t quite remember.

They watch while making small comments here and there, but otherwise it’s silent except for the cannonball slam of leather and squeaky shoes. Yaku is too busy being hyper aware of Kuroo beside him to really focus.

“I could’ve saved the ball there.”

“I should’ve positioned better.”

“I’m so much  _ better _ now.”

These thoughts flit in and out of his brain mechanically like coins fed into a crane machine, each cent wasted on empty claws and Kuroo’s diluted agreement.

He doesn’t need to be analyzing a high school match anyway; he plays for  _ Russia _ . They are small and young in their red and white jerseys, and here in this living room they are bigger than they could’ve ever imagined. Kuroo, in particular, takes up this space like a thick fog.

Yaku is getting antsy. There is too much change rattling around. His tea is getting cold.

“What are we supposed to be doing, Kuroo?” Yaku blurts out. “Here,  _ right now _ , not later.”

He leans forward onto his knees and tilts his head in Yaku’s direction, an invitation to honesty. Kuroo looks so much older than their teenage selves on the flatscreen. His tie is loose around the collar of a white button-up, sleeves pushed over the elbows, and there are lines creeping up around the crinkle of his eyes. When he crooks a smile, the years draw back, but Yaku can immediately tell that he’s  _ nervous _ . “Your call,” he murmurs.

_ Oh _ . Kuroo can’t be this stupid to just  _ let _ Yaku have this power rush, to open his palms and have him take everything. “I go back next week,” Yaku says.

“You said  _ right now _ .”

It takes another moment of staring at each other’s faces, the planes of familiarity they’ve drawn upon for years, before Yaku moves. He palms Kuroo’s shoulder and eases him down against the couch, and Yaku crawls up on top of him. “I’ll be in Russia.”

“I’m staying in Japan,” Kuroo answers.

Yaku plants his hands on either side of Kuroo’s face and watches him swallow with the careful gaze of a predator. Like this, Yaku is subjected to everything Kuroo has to offer. He takes in the anticipating twinkle in his eyes and the flush of his skin. The highpoint of his cheekbone slopes perfectly into the cup of Yaku’s palm, and he allows the curious thumb against his bottom lip.

“You’re stupid,” he whispers.

“And you’re on your knees.”

They kiss like they’ve known each other’s mouths this whole time. There is something seamless about fitting their lips together and thinking almost smugly,  _ this is exactly how I imagined it. _

Kuroo still takes up every nerve ending in Yaku’s body. His hands are tight around his ribcage. The gentle taste of jasmine tells him Kuroo stole a sip from his tea. Even in the background, a young, ambitious Kuroo is giving his stupid blood monologue. Yaku is soft and so greedy.

When they part, Yaku just presses their foreheads together with his eyes closed. He takes a breath and finds that Kuroo’s cologne from the workday hasn’t worn off yet; warm and powdery, like soft cotton coming around to wrap him up. It reminds him of third-year study sessions in the library and sitting next to each other in class. It reminds him of snide remarks leaned into his ear, sleeping together in a dark bus, and the day Kuroo hugged him goodbye at the airport. “You still wear the same cologne,” Yaku murmurs.

Kuroo hums, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “You told me it smelled nice. Once.”

He snorts. “How typical of you.”

“Should I change it?”

Yaku’s eyes flutter shut and he considers the gentle vanilla, before answering, “Never.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> catch me on twitter [@softresetter](https://twitter.com/softresetter)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a sort of sequel!
> 
> this time the prompt was "snow being shoved down the back of your coat", courtesy of ela <3

Things work out for them. Not that Kuroo is prone to negative thoughts or anything, but sometimes the ball circles the hoop and rolls right out, and then the entire game is over just like that. He  _ did _ shoot his shot, but how embarrassing it would have been to lose like that, to lose to  _ Yaku _ , to lose  _ Yaku _ .

Couldn’t be Kuroo.

They’ve uncovered their fair share of difficulties doing the whole long distance thing: the time difference, the communication, the trust, the bone-deep ache of longing for each other’s comfort and familiarity. It takes a few years for them to get into the rhythm of reaching and taking and giving, over and over, but they’re no strangers to being rough around the edges. Their only constant is the sure ending and beginning of the volleyball season. In that sweet space where the court no longer grips Yaku, he returns to Kuroo.

However, this year: “You should come to Russia.”

Kuroo figured it was about time Yaku would demand to be chased. He’s predictable like that.

The first time he entered Yaku’s apartment was startling. It was as if he’d stepped into his own home, and someone had cleaned up for him. Yaku doesn’t have remote controls lost in the sofa cushions, or an overflowing shelf full of knick knacks, but they have the same photographs and holiday cards, framed and displayed with prideful care. These tethering memories they share welcomed Kuroo unexpectedly.

Yaku squeezes Kuroo’s palm and forces him to meet his eyes. “You’re smiling weird,” he points out. “What are you thinking about?”

“Take a lucky guess,” Kuroo hums, squeezing back. It’s Kuroo’s third day in Russia, and they’re on their way back from drinks with a few of Yaku’s teammates; Kuroo hardly understood a word, but that was okay. The snow flutters lazily from the sky, catching in their hair and crunching beneath their boots. Yaku keeps their hands safe in his own coat pocket.

“If it’s me you’re taking a flight straight back to Tokyo.”

“And we have a lucky winner!”

“You don't  _ get _ anything out of that.”

Kuroo rolls his eyes. “Of course not, you think I  _ want _ to be thinking about you every hour of the day?”

“It's starting to sound like it.”

“ _ It's starting to sound like it _ ,” Kuroo mocks and earns a warning glare. “I’m quirky and romantic, alright. I'm not like other guys.”

“ _ I'm not like other guys, _ ” Yaku mocks back.

Kuroo scowls and shimmies his hand out of Yaku’s grip. His skin tingles without the cocoon of warmth. “You think you’re so funny, huh?”

“You started it,” Yaku huffs. They turn a corner that Kuroo’s beginning to recognize, and he starts to lag behind, just out of Yaku’s periphery. Kuroo ducks down to plunge his hands into the snow. It’s beyond freezing, but he packs a fat snowball as quietly as he can and catches up. “Tetsu, are you-”

Kuroo interrupts him by smashing the snowball into the side of his face with a victorious shout. Yaku’s yelp pierces the night air. “You didn’t like the romantic part, so you’re getting all the quirk now,” he sneers, grinning down at him.

“You’re so fucking done,” Yaku spits, wiping the snow slipping down his cheek. “Fucking- hey, get back here!”

Kuroo is only half-sure he’s going the right direction, but he’s taking off anyway, Yaku hot on his tail. Streetlamps guide him down empty plots of land, past stone-faced doormen watching brightly-lit buildings. His lungs burn like peppermint and ice; he’s not the athlete he used to be. Yaku catches up easily. He latches onto Kuroo’s arm and yanks him back into a waiting handful of snow of his own. “Hey, not  _ inside _ !”

“That’s what you get!” Yaku exclaims smugly. His hot breath clouds the air, and hair falls out of its slicked-back hold into Yaku’s eyes, wild and messy. Kuroo feels something old stir in his blood again and instead of kissing the daylights out of him, he chucks another snowball.

In a quiet neighborhood where the moon doesn’t quite reach, they pelt snow at each other. Kuroo can’t quite tell if they’re angry or not, yet there’s plenty of things he thinks they could scream about: the time difference, the communication, the trust, the bone-deep ache of needing to rile each other up because they’re getting along  _ too _ well. They grin maniacally and hurl with monstrous strength, losing themselves to the wisp of first-year tension seeping out of nowhere. They prove again and again that a part of them was always made to claw at each other.

Kuroo’s hands have gone numb by the time they stop. “You’ve been sitting in the office too much,” Yaku breathes.

“Shut the fuck up,” Kuroo wheezes. His head is pounding more than it probably should be.

Yaku drags himself up to Kuroo to place a hand on his cheek. It’s cold and wet, and he flinches away. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks.

“Just give me a second…”

“Great,” he chirps and shoves a final fistful of snow down the back of Kuroo’s coat.

“Yaku!” Kuroo cries, bolting upright as it melts and slithers down his heated skin. He squirms violently before Yaku’s hands clamp tight around his shoulders and pulls him down into a kiss. His brain malfunctions, overloaded with the hot press of Yaku’s lips and the ice. Everything is magnified, and the snow, trapped beneath his collar and soaking into his sweater, becomes unbearable. Yet Yaku keeps him there, steady and welcoming to the violent shivers wracking Kuroo’s body.

“You’re seriously not funny anymore,” Kuroo exhales against Yaku’s mouth.

He has the audacity to smile and kiss the corner of his lips. “Gee, seems like you’ve gotten all wet, Tetsu.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the kuroyaku agenda never ends
> 
> catch me on twitter [@softresetter](https://twitter.com/softresetter)


End file.
